


What's in a Name?

by magelette



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magelette/pseuds/magelette
Summary: Ronan knows what it's like to lose a constant companion. But isn't comforting Penn in his time of need a little too much for the Knowledge to ask? It's Penn, for eff's sake... Post GWP.





	What's in a Name?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laughing_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughing_Phoenix/gifts).



He remembered the burning, the feeling of fullness to the point of almost exploding. It was like an eternal itching to sneeze but the sneeze and the release never came. He remembered the feeling that his clothes and his skin and his everything never quite fit, and also how the burning inside him almost drove him crazy and out of school. And yet, the burning was comforting and a companion, and finally, when he and Michael actually started talking to each other like civilized people, it was an understanding. He remembered the coppery taste of rage in his mouth, the blood thundering through his veins until he Did Something, until he righted the wrong. The flood of words in the Speech helped define that drive. The Oath gave him direction and purpose. 

Even though he held on to that feeling, he still thought that Penn was the stupidest shite in the multiverse and beyond Timeheart to put the moves on Nita. Any wizard with half a brain could see how entwined Nita’s name was with Kit’s. Janey mac, if Penn had bothered to read…

But that’s how the burning was, sometimes. It drove you to do things you didn’t always understand. It forced your hand in ways you wouldn’t always – not that Ronan could blame Michael for _every_ fight at school.

Penn hadn’t seen Kit burning, his eyes glowing with the fires of Martian until it overshadowed his very Kit-ness. Penn didn’t know about the weird twinned souls thing that Kit and Nita had going on with their interstellar Romeo and Juliet counterparts. Penn couldn’t understand the history. Ronan had been there since the beginning of the partnership. He’d even taken his life into his own hands once and kissed Nita, for feck’s sake. That probably rated one of the most explosive kisses in his short life and was a mistake in more ways than one, but Ronan still knew. He had to remember that Penn’s experience with the Wrath of Callahan was shite at this point. In the aftermath, Ronan could almost excuse everything. Almost.

When he saw the burning in Kit’s eyes, the same burning as Mars, Ronan knew there had been no talking Kit out of the wizard’s duel. The minute Penn opened his gob and claimed he should own Nita in that fecking caveman way of his had been the last straw for anyone, not just Kit. Ronan didn't blame Kit for going mental. Which is why Ronan had only sighed and erected the protective barrier, because he knew about being past the point of no return. He knew what happened when the burning was stoked into full-on inferno. He was grateful that Irina had recognized that in the aftermath too. While she'd let Penn and Kit off relatively easily with a warning and a tongue-lashing, she'd at least left Ronan out of it. She didn't have an outrider, but she still had to deal with the forces of the planet; the Planetary for Earth definitely understood being possessed by your work. Ronan could only imagine the kind of control Irina had to have just to function day to day. He preferred his old head-mate, personally.

On top of that, no matter how much Carmela implied, Ronan was not involved in a weird threesome with Kit and Nita. It wasn't his place to bash Penn's ugly face in. Not that he wanted to be in a threesome with Kit and Nita – bless Kit for wanting Nita that close to his bollocks – because he’d spent most of his life consumed by fire, and he didn’t want to burn like that again.

He’d been tempted, even up to the time that Penn arrived on the Moon before the finals, to pop Penn one in his smarmy gob and warn him never ever EVER for feck’s sake if you value you life interfere with that any Callahan female. Tempted, but not enough to actually do anything.

But then there was a phoenix. And some of Penn’s shite – some, not all – made sense. Janey mac, Dari probably loved all the Jean Grey analogies with that one. And suddenly Ronan felt just a little bit bad about wanting to punch Penn's face in. 

Which is why he found himself in San Francisco, for feck’s sake, having begged Darryl for a lift (“It’s near that street from Full House? Cool!” “How do you even know that show? You’re, like, six!”). As soon as they stepped out of the damp, piss smelling bushes into the damp, piss smelling city, Ronan had immediately wrinkled his nose. Darryl was enough, bouncing all over the place in draining enthusiasm, and the ensuing headache was taking all the fun out of travel. So San Francisco's loudness, fog, and weird smells were almost too much, especially considering the nature of the errand. The bald Chinese man in a tracksuit, who barely came up to Ronan’s chin, at Penn's door was another thing entirely.

“Dai stiho,” the man said after giving Ronan the once-over. Ronan hoped he’d passed muster. Darryl would’ve easily won the old guy over, but he’d decided to stay home. He wasn’t feeling up to City and Noise and Other People’s Drama.

“Dai stiho,” Ronan replied, offering the man a bow. “I'm Ronan Nolan, one of Penn's--" How did he define the relationship? "Acquaintances" was the best word the Speech came up with. 

"Shao Jianguo," the man replied, bowing in response. "I am Penn's baba, his grandfather." 

"Is Penn in? I'd like to talk to him.“

The old man rolled his eyes and waved Ronan in. “We thought he would be better now, after the Simurgh was released. Even without his outrider, he is still—“ The old man paused, as if considering his options in the Speech. “Penn.”

Ronan choked back a laugh. 

Penn’s baba had the same inscrutable look in his eyes that Ronan’s nan often had. “You are the right one. Nita’s outrider is not the same, but you…”

Now Ronan could feel the heat in his cheeks. “It still shows?”

The old man raised an eyebrow. “I’m old. My job is to drink tea and know things.”

Before Ronan could even react to that, he was shone into a hallway that seemed to scream money: chrome light fixtures, marble floors, heavy furniture that gleamed with gold gilding. It all flew by in a blur until he was ushered into what Penn’s baba called ‘the media room,’ Ronan had eyes only for one thing: the view. His mam swore he was her little water baby. There was something about the sight of the sea and that orangey bridge that caught the breath in his throat.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” Penn’s voice was actually subdued for once. When Ronan turned around to look at him, he was dressed with his usual flamboyance – loud Hawaiian shirt, even louder beach jams and looking like he’d gotten fashion advice from a certain Christmas tree. Or like he was trying to compensate for a lack of something. The force of personality, though, was missing. The droopiness, the lack of Penn-ness…

Ronan knew exactly what Penn was going through. And he hated it. It had only been six months of adapting to life as a solitary, to missing that constant burning presence inside him, but he knew. All too well.

“You got it bad, eejit.”

Penn glared. “Did _she_ send you? I know who you are.”

Ronan snorted. “You didn’t do the reading again, didja, mate? You have no idea who I am. Check your Tao.”

Penn’s glare darkened, but he did what he was told. He unrolled the bamboo scroll next to him and actually read through it. Ronan could pinpoint the exact moment Penn realized. And even that realization felt like too little, too late. At Penn's bland look, Ronan had to clench his fists, resisting the urge to slam them into Penn's face. His feet wanted to pace, to move, to fight rather than fly, but he held his place and kept still. “Don’t you get it, Penn?" He kept his voice quiet, so as not to set either of them off. "I’ve been there. I’ve. Been. There. Phenomenal cosmic power, itty bitty living space? Then it’s just you rattling around in your head like an effing old granny who just lost her man?”

Penn sank down into himself in a chair, face falling, quiet for once. He curled up into a ball, arms around his legs, looking like a lost child instead of his usual Holy Joe. Ronan took that as an invitation to enjoy one of the plushy arm chairs next to him.

“It’s almost as bad as when Mama died,” Penn said slowly, softly. Ronan sighed. Of course. And the Knowledge told him that Penn's his mam had been an aeromancer, a good one. And, of course, Penn's mam was also dead. And it wasn't dying valiantly against the Lone Power, it was because of a stupid slip-up: trying to talk a storm out of existence while out for a walk, and the oncoming car didn’t see her… He knew what it was like to be Mam’s boy. He also wished that he didn't have to hide so much of his life from his mam. Being able to talk with her about wizardry and what happened with Michael; even being able to explain the why of so much of his life. Having seen Mr. Callahan, and Roshaun’s da, and the Rodriguezes, Ronan had been incredibly tempted to come out to his parents about his wizardry. He suspected Nan knew. But to have that kind of an open relationship with your family, to not have to hide anymore… By all the Powers, he hated Penn even more now, because that was one more thing in Penn's favor.

Penn's eyes stared off in the distance, obviously not seeing Ronan anymore. At least the hang-dog look was off his face. He actually smiled. Ronan, trying to maintain his cool image, tried not to smile back. “She would sit at the table in the kitchen as she worked. I was the only one who got to watch her. She’d tell me all the time about how she was protecting people and saving the world. She was my super hero. Then she died.” 

And the Knowledge told Ronan something else he didn’t want to know – that Penn had attempted a hell journey. That Penn had succeeded where Nita had almost failed, if not for Kit: Penn had fought the Lone Power and won. Well, ‘won.’ 

Ronan didn’t know if he should put reach out a hand to Penn in sympathy, since their chairs were within reach of each other, or if he should slap some sense into him. There was always the option of shoving some chocolate in Penn’s face a la Remus Lupin He settled for being silent, because sometimes silence was the best thing to offer.

Penn’s eyes bore into Ronan’s like he was drowning, and Ronan was his life jacket. “Who am I now?’

Ronan took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. This was a question he'd asked himself for the past six months, with no answer in sight. “It sucks, mate. I won’t lie,” he said slowly, looking Penn in the eye and speaking in the Speech. “I lucked out. My outrider still pops in for a chat, now and then. But that renaming yourself, that’s the hard part.”

Penn flinched back, his eyes dropping to the hands he'd twisted up in his lap. This time, Ronan let his guard down and did reach out to put his hand on Penn’s. “Let the Tao tell you, lad. Take it day by day. You’ll work it out.” Then he smirked, giving Penn a noticeable double-take, head to toe. “And if that fecking clown look’s not working for you, black’s a nice contrast.”

For a moment, Penn wore a stunned look on his face. Then his eyes, too, looked down at his clashing colors and patterns, as if reconsidering them. Then, once he'd assessed his life choice, Penn actually smirked back.

Penn gave Ronan's hand an actual squeeze, then gently pushed it away. He sat up taller, straightening himself out, looking a little bit more like the full-of-himself Penn that Ronan had met just weeks ago. But there was still a look of apology on his face, actual regret in his furrowed eyebrows and frown. “I was a shithead. Like, really a shithead.”

Ronan snorted. “That’s one way of putting it. I don’t get it, though. Your outrider was female. Why did you—“ There were probably a few things. He wasn’t Chinese, so he couldn’t begin to understand how women were traditionally treated and if Penn’s family bought into some of that. Penn was also his mam’s boy, the son of a powerful wizard who died for the Art. When faced with Nita, it made sense that Penn would want to protect Nita from her part in the Art, and even from herself. Especially since Nita was the one Penn and the Simurgh needed to free them from each other.

“Maybe you should actually talk to Nita at some point, yeah? Like a serious talk. Ask her about her mam. Ask her about Dairine and Roshaun and the sun.”

Penn started shaking his head the minute Ronan mentioned Nita’s name, and the shaking only got more emphatic when Dairine came up. Ronan smirked. At least Penn had learned that much about Callahan women. 

“Penn. Mate. Talk to her. She won’t bite. She saves that for Kit.” Oh, Miss Nita was going to let him have it for that one. But the half-grin in response to Ronan's was worth the price.

“Can I talk to you?” The loneliness in Penn’s words stung a little, actually making Ronan miss his former head-mate, even in their macaw form.

With a sigh, Ronan got out his mobile and passed it to Ronan. “Put your details in there. ‘Mela got us all a great deal on intergalactic messaging, so we don’t even need to rely on the Knowledge.”

It was lonely in your head, once your headmate moved out. Ronan still felt lost sometimes, but having his friends helped out. Having his friends helped him find his own name again, and reforge his identity. He was still _him_ , just version 2.0.

“Whaddaya think of games, eh, Penn? Sometimes a group of us gets together on the Moon for some practice, after the whole Pullulus fiasco…”

And in the back of his mind, he swore he heard bright laughter, almost like a macaw.

Or a Phoenix.


End file.
